Clap your hands, if you want. I won't.
Nothing's happened to make me feel
I should celebrate. One dirty bastard,
A racist, a psychopath, soon will be out,
But his allies remain. Almost half
Of the nation hoped he would stay.
They mill menacingly with their guns
In the streets, shouting, “We have been
Cheated,” calling for war, while
The other half cheers for a useless
Nonentity, chosen precisely because
He has promised them nothing,
No health care, no housing, no limits
To killings by cops, and conflicts overseas.
The rich will grow richer. The poor
Will be cursed, sent to prison, if lucky,
Otherwise murdered. The voters have
Spoken. They like how things are.
If you're one of them, go ahead,
Clap for democracy. I won't.
It nauseates me.

Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 36 times
Written on 2020-11-11 at 19:32

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poetic pilgrim The PoetBay support member heart!
it is not because you pass the frontline of racism that the relationships will be more compliant

Rob Graber
Too dark for my palate (to mix sensory metaphors); but damn effective.